


Amor Fati

by WhyDoIWrite



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: But why am I writing this though?, DEA Agent, F/F, Girls in Uniform - Freeform, Lesbian Character, Lesbian Sex, Meth Epidemic, NWSL, PDX - Freeform, Portland Thorns, She’s a badass, Stakeout, woso - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:46:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22445065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhyDoIWrite/pseuds/WhyDoIWrite
Summary: Because Sonny leaving Portland isn’t enough for Lindsey, she has to kick off the 2020 NWSL season with a DEA stakeout based out of her apartment.
Relationships: Kelley O’Hara/Lindsey Horan
Comments: 9
Kudos: 55





	1. DEA

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t know why I’m doing this. It’s just for fun.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Either Emily hired a stripper for Lindsey to cheer her up, or Lindsey’s about to be arrested. Or maybe she’s gonna be robbed at gun point. She not sure which is the greater of those evils.

The sharp rap on the door jolts Lindsey awake just as she is dozing off. She hates game days now, without Sonny. There’s nothing to do, no one to hang out with. Well, there are _plenty_ of people to hang out with, but no one Lindsey _wants_ to hang out with. Not even Tobin. She loves Tobin. But Tobin’s not her brunch buddy or her bus buddy or... well... she’s not Sonny. She’s not going to cuddle with Tobin or hold hands with Tobin or run her fingers through Tobin’s hair. She not going to rest her head on Tobin’s shoulder or Tobin’s lap. Because Tobin will never be able to take Sonny’s place, even if Lindsey doesn’t have the courage to be vulnerable enough to explain why no one can.

That knock, at this time, would normally be Sonny, there to pick her up so they could go have avocado toast at Upstream, but today, she has to face the harsh reality that it’s not Sonny. Lindsey can’t wish Sonny back, no matter how hard she tries. And she _has_ tried. She knows it’s probably never again going to be Sonny knocking on her door on game day, but that doesn’t mean she’s accepted it yet. Lindsey hates that. 

And she hates the sound of her goddamn metal knocker on wood. It grates on her nerves. She just wants whomever it is to go the fuck away.

But they’re not going away. They’re just knocking louder and longer and Lindsey’s plan to nap - to avoid thinking about how much she misses Sonny on the day of her first game in Providence Park without her best friend - has seemingly blown up in her face. Sleep has been the only way she gets any peace lately, and now she can’t even sleep in her own apartment. 

* * *

They both thought it would be harder for Sonnett, the trade. And it was at first, of course. The shock and betrayal, the thought of stepping on the field without Lindsey. It was all so overwhelming at first that Lindsey knows if Sonnett hadn’t been in camp, she wouldn’t have gotten out of bed. But then Sonnett moved to Orlando. And she settled in during preseason, made friends, gelled really well with the group. Because of course she did. She’s Emily Sonnett and she can get along with anyone and everyone because she’s warm and inviting, unthreatening, kind, funny. She’s so personable that everyone down there has taken a shine to her, and Emily’s thriving with all the attention. Especially from Alanna, it seems, if her stories on Instagram are any indication. It’s Lindsey who’s still suffering four months after the trade was announced. Lindsey who thought she was lucky because she got to stay, now realizing that Portland means very little to her without Emily.

* * *

Lindsey throws off the blanket that used to cover both of them and pads to the door. She opens it, quite harshly actually, to knuckles about to knock - again. She’s about to be rude, but some visceral reaction makes her swallow her words.

The knuckles belong to a woman in a perfectly tailored grey pantsuit and heels. A slight woman, compared to Lindsey at least, with light brown hair pulled up in a bun, a freckled face, and the clearest green-brown eyes Lindsey has ever seen. And Lindsey’s immediate thought is about how thankful she is that those distasteful words didn’t fly out of her mouth. And that thought causes her to blush as she looks down at the woman. 

The beautiful woman flashes an even more beautiful smile, and Lindsey realizes she’s been holding her breath ever since she opened the door and took a big one in in preparation for letting it all out in the form of angry words. Or at least annoyed words. 

“Hi, can I come in?” the woman asks.

What the fuck? Is this some joke? Some singing telegram stripper that Sonnett sent her? Is she one of those crazy salespeople? Or worse, is this a trick? Send a sexy woman to the door, let her flash that disarming smile and ask for an invite inside, and then bam, crazy men with guns jump out and rob her blind.

Lindsey decides that the latter is exactly what this is, and she braces one leg behind the door prepared for an onslaught as she cranes her neck out to look for bad guys hiding outside her apartment. They probably cased the place. Probably knew she lived alone, probably...

The woman interrupts her thoughts. “It’s important. That we talk.”

 _The fuck it is,_ Lindsey thinks. _Not today, Satan, not today._ But then the woman every so slightly moves her jacket to the side, flashing a badge, and Lindsey’s heart skips a beat. Gotta be a stripper. Unless she’s being arrested. Maybe the jail broken Firestick that she never got around to downloading a VPN for? Unless it’s a fake badge. All part of the plan, Lindsey decides. Damn that thing looked real though. Which she guesses is the point, actually. She shakes her head, not moving out from behind the door. She thinks she remembers something from Law and Order about not being able to be arrested inside her own home without a warrant, but in case that’s a real badge, she’s not going to test it out. 

The woman gives her an absolutely exasperated look, shifting her weight as she lets out an audible sigh. That sigh is clearly meant for Lindsey to hear, for Lindsey to get the point. It makes Lindsey think the woman is even shadier. The woman reaches inside the breast of her jacket with one hand. The other hand raises a finger to her lips, her perfect, soft lips, free of annoying bright lipstick. And as she purses her lips to make an almost inaudible _shhh_ sound, Lindsey can’t help but notice her high cheekbones. Only then does Lindsey realize that lips and cheekbones are probably not what she should be focused on when this woman is clearly about to pull a gun on her. Instead, the woman flips open a black leather bifold and shows it to Lindsey. It’s her credentials, complete with a photo: DEA Special Agent Kelley O’Hara.   
  


Seriously. What. The. Fuck. 


	2. I’m Moving In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This not-stripper actual government agent is kinda hot, Lindsey thinks.

Lindsey backs into her apartment, opening the door wider to allow the woman in. _You don’t say no to a federal agent, right_? She’s too stunned now to try to figure out why she might be getting arrested. 

“Sit down," Agent O'Hara says sternly.

Lindsey sits. 

And she thinks, one more time, in the split second before the woman also sits, that maybe she should have turned her chair around, opened her legs, grabbed her phone first to film the whole thing. Because this woman, in her power suit and heels, with her badge, and her attitude, well, she’s fucking _hot_. And if Lindsey’s going to get arrested today... But she’s not, because everything about this _screams_ Emily Sonnett. It would have been the greatest prank she’s ever pulled. 

Except it's not.

“Thank you,” Agent O’Hara says, sounding a little relieved that she’s not having to deal with Lindsey’s stubbornness anymore, at least not for the moment. “Listen, I know this is unorthodox, and I appreciate you letting me in to talk. I work for the Drug Enforcement Agency, and, well, I'm not going to beat around the bush. We need to use your apartment for a stakeout.”

Lindsey laughs. Full-on belly laughs, eyes crinkling, dimples showing.

Agent O’Hara does not. She doesn’t even crack a smile.

Lindsey stops laughing. 

Agent O’Hara raises her eyebrows. “Are you done?" 

Lindsey feels like she's being chastised by a teacher. She nods, suddenly very intimidated, as she stares at Agent O’Hara’s taut lips, and the fine lines now visible at the corners of her mouth.

“Good. Your neighbors are meth dealers. Pretty high up in the organization, we think. With connections, possibly to the top. Meth in an _epidemic_ in Portland. This is serious, Ms. Horan.”

 _Fuck. She knows my name_.

“We need to base our operations out of your apartment for a few days.”

Lindsey doesn’t know what to say. Well, there are a lot of things she wants to say, like “ _Fuck no_ ,” and “ _I’m not getting involved in this. I watched Narcos. They’ll put a hit out on me_ ,” and “ _How many people is we_?” But Agent O’Hara is scary so Lindsey doesn’t say any of it. She just stares. At those green eyes. Unmoving.

“We’d like to get started today. Do you have any questions?” Agent O’Hara asks.

 _Questions_? Lindsey has questions. Starting with _Why the fuck do you think you’re going to start today when I haven’t even said yes?_ Instead, she goes with, “What exactly are you going to be using my apartment for?”

“Surveillance. Mostly,” Agent O’Hara replies, tipping her head to the window. “You’ve got a corner unit. It allows us access to see from your window into their living room. And, your unit provides the proximity we need for listening devices.”

“Ok, first of all, can’t you just get a warrant and like, tap their phones or something?” Lindsey asks, annoyed, because this seems too… extra.

“We can’t. We don’t have enough evidence to get a judge to sign off on it.” Agent O’Hara sounds frustrated. “My boss doesn’t even want to dedicate the manpower to this. He’s only giving us a few days. But I know I’m right about this. I just know it. Anyway. Secondly?”

“What?” Lindsey sounds confused. 

“You said ‘first of all.’ So what’s your second question?”

“Oh,” Lindsey blushes. She was so focused on that jawline that she had forgotten. “You keep saying we. Who is we?”

“My partner,” Agent O’Hara says flatly. “He’s in the car. Thought it would be, maybe a bit too obvious, both of us coming up here.”

“It’s obvious with just you coming up here dressed like that,” Lindsey blurts out. “No one dresses like this around here. I mean, maybe you see people in suits on the way to work, but it's almost 11. You stand out.”

“Noted. Can we move in? Set up shop? Today?”

Lindsey’s eyes go wide. “Are you guys going to be taking shifts? Like, I don’t want to be alone in my apartment with some strange man.”

Agent O’Hara pinches the bridge of her nose as if trying to fend off a headache. “Why? Got a boyfriend who’ll be jealous?” she asks, looking back up at Lindsey.

“No. I don’t. Have a boyfriend. Jealous or otherwise. Shouldn’t you know that already? You’re the… government.”

Agent O’Hara smirks and Lindsey can’t tell if she did, in fact, already know that, or if she was just trying to get that information out of Lindsey, and now she has. “Fine. I guess he can be stationed in his vehicle when I’m off-duty. Will that make you feel more comfortable?” Her tone, that last sentence, it’s almost biting, and Lindsey’s lips part, as if she’s about to say something, about to call Agent O’Hara out for needing to use _her_ apartment. For needing a favor, basically. Kelley must catch it though, because she jumps in and apologizes quickly, blaming her snappiness on a lack of sleep. “We’ll be back in a couple of hours to move in,” she says, softer this time. “It’ll look like moving boxes, like we’re, or I, I guess, am actually moving in here with you.”

“I’ll be gone for my game probably, in a couple of hours.” And Agent O’Hara looks at Lindsey like she didn’t know that, like maybe she doesn’t know Lindsey is a soccer player. 

But she doesn’t ask any questions, just asks for a key so they can let themselves in to do the work they need to do. And she gives Lindsey her card. “Text me when you’re coming back. So I can come take over for my partner.” 

“Make sure you dress like normal people,” Lindsey reminds her as she leaves. “I don’t want you to get me caught up in all of this and then I get killed by a hitman.” She tries to sound like she’s joking. But she’s half serious.


End file.
